Castle Fanfic: Love Letters: A Halloween Story
by CharacterDriven
Summary: Beckett & Castle find mysterious old letters in a trunk... & a glimpse of true love from the past. This story pretty much wrote itself. I am humbly grateful for the many kind reviews. Mature themes, but not too juicy. Eternal love to my CRD: "Do you have the tickets?" "I thought you had the tickets!" g Thanks, LordOfKavaka, for #CastleHalloweenBash
1. Chapter 1

This story came to me abruptly the moment I read the fanfic prompt. Thanks, Travis!

**Love Letters**

* * *

They went out of town for the last weekend of autumn, when the nights were cool but Indian Summer breathed warm over the lake. Sunday afternoon, Kate led Rick upstairs into the attic. "My dad has some old trunks up in here. Before we go, we should see if we can find any cool costume stuff. For Halloween."

"Old trunks!?" Rick's eyes lit up in delight, and Kate gave him an answering grin. His infectious enthusiasm for everything except Captain Gates and tsunamis warmed her through.

Old trunks indeed. Amongst the jumble of battered furniture, sporting equipment, and dusty camping gear, there were three trunks in the cabin's attic; one marked "Katie" with childhood toys, board games, her high school cap and gown, yearbooks...

Castle made a grab for the yearbooks, but Kate held them away. "I want to make sure there's nothing too incriminating here," she admonished.

"Like you, in a cheerleader outfit?"

"Ugh. No. Like me dressed as Janet in Rocky Ho-"

"Rocky Horror? Are you kidding?"

"We were a progressive school."

"Dammit, Janet," Rick snarked, and she realized he was picturing her in lingerie, but whether it was the white pushup bra or the red and black corset... well, did it matter? For a second she thought he was going to pounce on her right then and there.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And you, Castle?"

"Frank. All the way."

"I would have taken you for the Brad type."

"Peel that onion, Beckett, until your eyes burn." He tossed his head back and laughed, rolled his shoulders, and yup: there it was – Frank N Furter. Kate stared at him, bug-eyed.

"Ok, we seriously need to discuss this later. But for now..."

She dug in to the second trunk, marked: "Johanna." There were old autograph books in here, and photo albums, some of them very old. Kate frowned in surprise. "I've never seen these before."

She opened one up. "These are from Serbia."

"Your mom's family?"

Kate nodded. Tucked between the album leaves was a clutch of envelopes yellowed with age, the paper brittle. "I'm dying to look at this," she said, "but I'm afraid it will fall apart."

"Who's it addressed to?"

Kate said, "Aleksandar Danilovic. My great, great uncle, I think."

"Hm... I know an archivist at the library who might be able to open it without tearing it to shreds... or at least keep track of them."

They nosed through the trunk a bit more, and Kate phoned her dad, asking permission to take her own trunk and the photo albums from Johanna's. He said, "Sure, Katie. Your second cousin sent those over a few years back and I didn't think to tell you about it, just sort of threw them in there." The unsaid story: he'd been drunk and forgotten about them.

She let it go. "Thanks, Dad." She counted her blessings that he was sober now, and hadn't just thrown them out in his despair after Johanna was killed.

* * *

•

Castle texted Kate a week later: "Hey, my librarian buddy just took a look at the letters. Says they're amazing."

Kate: "Let's meet there at lunch – 12:30?"

Castle: "Deal."

* * *

•

When Kate arrived at the library's historical archive section, Castle was already there. He introduced Kate to their historian, Madeline Ziglar. She was a small, comfy-looking woman wearing trifocals and a plaid wool skirt. She reminded Kate vaguely of Velma from Scoobie-Doo, although clearly in this case, Velma had a big crush on Freddie that she was trying very hard to conceal. Kate was glad that, in general, Castle was not partial to wearing ascot ties.

Ziglar said, "I'd like to ask you to wash your hands before handling the documents, then put these gloves on." Although she followed the directions, Kate felt oddly put-upon, since the documents technically belonged to her family, although she knew that any rough handling or body oils could further their deterioration.

They sat down across from Ms Ziglar at the big table, and she produced a little stack of white, neatly-typed sheets.

"Now," she said, "If you think you'll get money from Sotheby's for those letters... you're likely mistaken unless you find a collector who's interested in magicians from the early 20th century."

Beckett and Castle exchanged a startled glance. "Furthest thing from my mind."

Ziglar went on. "And, um, you may not exactly approve of the direction these letters take."

"How so?"

"You can decide for yourself when you read them." Her face flamed pink. "To avoid their being handled any further, I've had transcripts made. One had to be translated from the Serbian."

"Wow, thanks," said Kate.

"You can thank Mr. Castle for his generous donations to our literacy programs," smiled Ms. Ziglar. "I'll leave you two to read them. If you want to look at the originals, please do be careful." She then gave Kate a strange, sharp look – assessing her, somehow - and left them alone.

Rick said, "How about if we take turns reading them aloud?" Kate nodded. She loved hearing Rick's voice, and she was getting used to reading aloud to him when she found a story or passage she enjoyed.

* * *

Rick went first.

_"November 29, 1919_

_Dear Alek,_

_I was so surprised and pleased to find your letter from 1916 still awaiting me upon my arrival in Schenectady. The landlady at my boarding house kindly picked it up from General Delivery and held on to it, for over three years. I hope this letter finds you still alive and well. It is strange being home in New York, which seems so quiet and orderly after the noise of war. I wonder whether you were able to get home to your village, and how your family fared while you were away fighting. In the terrible losses suffered by Serbia, I have feared for your safety._

_I will always remember your friendship, and the brief but surprisingly happy time we spent together on Corfu. I have perfected your trick with the coin, but the salt-shaker still mystifies me. Perhaps you will show me some day._

_It would do me good to hear from you._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Dickie"_

* * *

•

Now it was Kate's turn: _  
"December 24, 1919_

_Dear Alek, _

_I was truly delighted that you responded so quickly to my missive. I am grieved at the news of the passing of your dear parents and elder brother, and send condolences to you and your family. It must have been terribly hard to learn they had died only weeks before your arrival home, not knowing whether you survived the war. Your sister and brother must have been so happy and relieved when you arrived to collect them from the orphanage. Have they grown much? From the picture you showed me all those years ago, I imagine that by now, they are both nearly ready to "fly the nest" as we say in America. I wonder if there is a similar phrase in Serbian. _

_I trust that you have returned to a normal life. But I also wonder if you will grow restless. Living in such a small town, and running the family shop, must feel very different from traveling, even in such trying circumstances as battle. I am sure the stories from your shop are more wholesome than the foxhole humor we shared as we recovered from our respective ailments. _

_I hope you are still practicing your magic tricks. From what I remember of your lovely sister's photograph, perhaps she would be a good magician's assistant. _

_When I returned from the war, I found that my fiancee, Elizabeth, had withdrawn her affections and become engaged to marry another man. For some reason, although I loved Elizabeth, my sentiments toward her were more those of a friend than a husband, so I feel little regret over the matter. Perhaps you have an idea why. But I have little time to dwell on matters of the heart. _

_I have begun working as a copy editor for the local newspaper, the Schenectady Times-Star. It is an exacting position, but it is reasonably well-paid. I spend evenings walking by the lake or reading, especially in studying the works of your idol, the great Harry Houdini. Your prestidigitation lessons in our hospital beds started up a passion that I've parlayed into a small extra income. Occasionally I am hired to entertain at parties, and hope to develop an act for the vaudeville circuit. I have developed a facility with mentalist tricks. For my act, I perform "cold readings" and feats of memorization, which have always come easily to me. I have been setting every penny aside. It seems that no sooner do I have a steady position, than I am thinking of taking time off to travel. Your stories of the Serbian countryside have stayed with me over the years. I wonder if you would think well of my coming for a visit. _

_I eagerly anticipate your next letter. I hope you will have the happiest of Christmases, and wish you and your family a joyful new year. _

_Yours very truly,_

_Dickie."  
_

* * *

Rick read the next one aloud to Kate.

_"January 18, 1920_

_Dearest Alek,  
_

_My greatest and most dear friend, your letter fills me with such a mix of hope and joy that I can barely contain myself. I feel the deepest regard for the courage of your lion's heart, that makes such a bold overture of trust and love, in full knowledge that everything can turn against you. But I will never turn against you. Even across the miles, and across the years since we parted, my heart has always been with you, and always will be."_

Rick stopped, and exchanged a wide-eye stare with Kate. He said, "Oooh, this is getting juicy."

"Well, go on!" she urged.

"_My heart breaks with regret for the words we only spoke with our eyes and hearts, never our lips. I have had such feelings all my life. I had heard of such things in whispers of sin and depravity, and seen only glimpses, but I thought I was truly the only man who felt this way, and the loneliness was slowly destroying me. Now I know that the look in your moss-green eyes was not my imagination. Now I know you returned my affections then, and I return yours, even after these long and solitary years. I want nothing more than to board the next steamer to Europe and hurry to your side. _

_Learning of your family's struggles, though, makes me wonder if there is another way. I know you would never leave your sister and brother behind, but perhaps I can find a way to act as your sponsor. There is so much opportunity here in the States, even for immigrants. If Johanna and Goran are anywhere near as remarkable as you, they will learn English with little effort. _

_I earnestly beg you to think of this possibility, to discuss it with your family – discreetly of course - and consider coming to New York. It breaks my heart to think of you all alone there, when we could be so happy together here. _

_I would be so grateful to receive a photograph of you, so that I may look upon it at sleeping and waking._

_Yours Always, _

_Dickie."_

They took a moment to digest this. "Wow," Kate said. "You suppose they were really in love?"

Rick shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. Your turn."

* * *

_•_

_March 12, 1920  
"Dearest Alek,_

_I thank you for the wonderful photographs, both of yourself and of the three of you together. Johanna seems a delightful girl..."_

"That would be my great aunt - " said Kate. "No, my mom's great aunt."

"_\- and it appears to me that Goran will be even taller than you are. They will have no lack of work once they have learned English. I am glad to know they are studying diligently. I received a short letter from Johanna. Her handwriting is excellent, and when she is of age, she may find work as a stenographer if she continues to work hard at her spelling and grammar. _

_Of course, you may decide to continue as a shop-keeper once you arrive here. New Yorkers are noted for their free-spending ways, and I am sure you will do well at whatever you set your remarkable mind to. But you are such a great magician, you will likely find work on the vaudeville circuit. We might even work together. For myself, I cannot imagine a better partner with whom to spend my days and nights._

_If we ourselves are thrifty, I see no reason why you might not arrive in New York by the summer of 1921. I would not want you all to travel during hurricane season, when the seas can be unduly wild. Summers are dreadfully hot here, but we have small compensations to offer, including sitting on a porch of the evening, drinking lemonade and talking until the moon goes down. It is not quite the same as sharing a bottle of wine on a moonlit beach in Corfu, but we will make new memories."_

* * *

• Rick picked up the next transcript, which contained two letters:

"_April 17, 1920  
My darling Alek:  
I am overjoyed to learn that telephone service has finally come to your little town. You were right, the world grows smaller every day. I have asked, and made arrangements, to speak with you from a private office at the Schenectady Times-Star. I will be telephoning the exchange you gave me on Friday, the Twenty-Third of May, at about four o'clock in the afternoon. I would be most grateful if you can possibly be alone to take the call. There are things I would like to say that no one else should hear." _

Castle smirked. "You think they had phone sex?"

Kate blushed. "Hey, this is my great-great-uncle. A little respect?"

Castle kept reading: _  
May 23, 1920  
My darling Alek: _

_It was beyond my wildest dreams to hear your beloved voice, and to speak with you, alone, with such fervent and intimate endearments. _

"Well, I guess that's a yes to the gay phone-sex," Kate giggled.

"Hm. A trunk call?"

Kate looked at Castle blankly.

He said, "Never mind. Old elephant joke." Very old. _Very._

"_...Do not worry about the cost of the conversation. It was worth a king's ransom just to hear you laugh, to hear you breathe as if you were right next to me, whispering in my ear. I only hope it is the first of many times, although I must admit I shed a tear or two at the end when we said goodbye once more. Was I the only one? _

_I am worried about that cough. I hope it leaves you swiftly. Stay warm and drink plenty of strong, hot coffee. God knows it got us through the war._

I pray God watch over you, until I may see you and embrace you with all my heart and strength. Until then,

_Love Always,_

_Your Dickie."_

Kate raised an eyebrow. "That may very well be the very first record of phone sex in history."

"Not just that. _Gay_ phone sex."

"That weird you out, He-Man?"

Rick shook his head. "Love is love. Your turn."

* * *

•

Kate read now.

"June 12, 1920  
I wept to receive your letter. God is so cruel, that he would strike you like this, so far away from me, when my arms ache to hold you and my heart beats only to comfort you. I have enquired (sic) at the Department of Immigration. In their infinite wisdom, they have decreed that tubercular patients be turned away from our shores."

Rick blew out a breath, oddly moved. "I should have expected something like that."

Kate said, "This story's beginning to come back to me now. Alek died young, but sent my great-grandfather and their sister to America somehow. Sold the family store, I thought."

"_...Although you did not ask, I have enclosed $200 in American money in hope that it will be worth more in your local exchange rate, that you have a little to sustain your treatment. I have made arrangements to come and visit you. Please, my dearest, hold on, that I may see your green eyes once more before they close forever. Until I can be with you again, _

_Always yours,_

_Dickie."  
_

* * *

_•  
_

"Jesus," Rick muttered.

He grabbed the next letter.

"Translated from the Serbian:

"_July 31, 1920  
My dear Miss Danilovic: _

_Thank you for informing me that your dear brother, Aleksander Danilovic, has passed on into the arms of God. He shall be in my prayers always._

_Although I know you are working hard to learn English, I have taken the liberty of having a Serbian friend translate my words into your language, so that there will be no misunderstanding._

_Alek had hoped you and your brother Goran would accompany him to find a new home with friends in the United States. Sadly, his tubercular condition destroyed that dream. I am very pleased to hear that you and Goran continue to have a clean bill of health._

_Before his untimely death, Alek wrote me one last letter, asking that I look after you and Goran, to which I eagerly agreed. He was terribly aggrieved that you were taken from him, and that you cannot inherit what little is left of your family's belongings. You know as well as anyone how much he loved you both, and how hard it was for him to leave those who love him behind. I share your sorrow that he died alone._

_I have already made arrangements to retrieve you from the orphanage at Belgrade. I want you to understand that my intentions are wholly honorable, and that I will care for you and your little brother as I would my own family, if I had one."_

Rick stopped a moment and looked at Kate, who was digging in her purse for a tissue. He handed her a clean hankie, of which he had a seemingly inexhaustible supply.

"It's like you're some kind of magician," she smiled weakly, and blew her nose. Rick swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I thought that ran in your family, not mine. My family..." he stopped for a moment, and his face went a little pale. He swallowed.  
_  
_"What is it?"

"I'll just keep reading."

"_I only ask one thing of you. Your brother Alek was a dear friend to me, a great man, and a brave soldier. In our correspondence, we discussed wartime incidents to which no innocent mind should be privy. Alek told me he kept all my letters. For the sake of his memory and friendship, if you still have them, please burn those letters from me, keeping only this one."_

Kate smile wryly. "So much for honoring a sacred memory."

Rick said, "Maybe she knew without reading them. Maybe it was a different kind of honor to keep them." He cleared his throat again, and continued,_ "...I have already booked passage via steamer and will take the train from Bordeaux to Belgrade. I have written the Mother Superior at the orphanage separately, with instructions to ensure your paperwork is in order. _

_If I have smooth sailing, I should arrive in early August, and have you home from Ellis Island by the first week of September. I look forward to meeting you and Goran, and hope that in some small way my actions can repay all the kindness your brother Alek showered upon me. His smile was truly a saving grace for everyone around him. May he never be forgotten."_

Castle paused a moment, then finished the reading the letter to Johanna Danilovic:

"_Asking that I may only be your very humble servant, _

_Richard Jonathan Rodgers" _

Kate coughed a little. "Wha?"

"If you'd been drinking coffee, that would have been a spit take."

"Let me see that."

He handed her the transcript. She frowned and looked over at Castle. "No relation, I'm sure."

Castle nodded. "Rodgers is a reasonably common name."

They leafed through the portfolio containing the letters, which were written in faded blue fountain pen ink, the writing neat and graceful, but not flowery. Some pages had split at the folds, and been carefully glued down and patched together like puzzle pieces, everything safely separated by sheets of translucent, protective vellum. It turned out that a couple of envelopes had been saved as well, with a "Richard Rogers" clearly listed as the writer, with a general delivery address at the Schenectady post office. At the back of the portfolio the librarians had mounted two photos: one a faded and blurry snapshot, of a group of soldiers sitting at a table, laughing over a bottle of wine. Below it was labeled _"Corfu, 1915."_ One of the men was fine-boned with a shy smile, large eyes and long lashes. The other was big, his arm draped casually across the other's shoulders. He bore a strong – but not exact – resemblance to the man who was now called Richard Castle, who had been borne Richard Alexander Rogers.

The second picture was a posed shot of the same big man, in straight-nosed profile, looking as dapper as an Arrow Collar ad, with patent-leather hair and a tuxedo. He was surrounded with mystical symbols: eyes, question marks, and nonsensical hieroglyphs. It was actually a black-and-white post card, embossed with fancy lettering:

_"Can the Great Rodgini Read Your Mind?_  
_Be Amazed! Tonight Only!_

_Orpheum Vaudeville House"_

The label: _"Advertising Lobby Card, Schenectady, NY, 1920."_

Hands shaking, Castle took out his phone to snap a picture, and as if by magic, Ms. Ziglar stopped him. "I'm so sorry, no flash, Mr. Castle," she said, almost cringing in embarrassment. Kate's mouth twitched. It was always hard to deny Rick. What she'd once mistaken for entitlement had turned out to be simple delight that people would give him what he asked for if he was nice enough about it. He occasionally pushed the right to ask, but never abused anyone who got in his way. Although he certainly did love pouting at Kate once in a while.

"I understand. Ok without a flash?"

Ziglar nodded, he braced the phone on his elbows, and snapped the photos carefully so as not to blur in the dim light.

He tapped around on his phone screen.

"Castle..." Kate began, but he held up a gentle finger, asking her wordlessly to wait.

His phone buzzed about 30 seconds later. It was Martha.

"Sorry, Mr. Castle, no speaker phone..."

Castle draped an arm around Kate and pulled her in close, so she could hear.

"Mother. I have to keep my voice low, I'm in the library."

"What a lovely picture of your great-grandfather. Never seen that one before – wherever did you find it?"

"I just want to know, those magicians he toured with in the 20s and 30s, what were their names?"

"George and Joanie Daniels? Brother and sister act, I believe."

"Where were they from?"

"I don't know, the Balkans, Transylvania, maybe. I never met them, they both got married and left show business when the Talkies killed vaudeville. You may be shocked to learn, that was before I was even born. Why?"

Kate had her hands over her mouth. Rick said, "Gotta go. Do I have a story for you."

He turned to his wife, and they lay their foreheads together, eyes closed, just breathing. Warmed, yet again, by that feeling of coming home.

Kate whispered, "Castle... my Grandpa George was a magician. So was his father, and his grandpa, too."

"This is crazy, right?" he grinned.

She whispered, "I just figured out where I want to take our next vacation. Just you, me, a bottle of wine, and endless kisses."

He nodded and murmured into her hair, "Corfu sounds good."

Apparently it's against the rules to make out in the library archives. But they gave it a try anyway.


	2. Chapter 2: Love Letters: The Chest

_This is purely optional reading. The whole story was pretty much told by Dickie's letters to Alek..._

and yet... and yet...

except that when I tried to go to sleep Friday night, Alek came and started whispering in Kate's ear, so to speak. Dipping my toe in Serbian history, staring at the old photos and reading some accounts of the horrors those people experienced... whew. I had NO IDEA. I know that every nation participating in that war suffered too much. It really should have been the War to End All Wars. Yet we have a number 1 behind it. Because we went up to 2. I can only pray there will be no 3.

After having spent many hours writing Alek's letters, I did a side trip for some research and found one of the most popular Serbian songs from World War 1. It pretty much broke my heart to do this research. So many sad stories! So get your angst on.

* * *

**_Nizamski Rastanak_**  
_Get together now, my good friends  
may the trumpet play until night sets, signalling our departure.  
Our last soldier's song  
let's all sing, may it be heard._

_Well for those old days, you can let out a tear  
were we not good friends.  
Who yearns for the nights, who yearns for the days  
the departure is preparing but there is no time  
oh, good friend._

_Still in my heart, like a hardened bell  
are heard the sounds of a sad trumpet, through that garrison.  
The last, sad soldier's greeting  
let's all sing, may it be heard._

_May every girl hear what a soldier recommends to her  
now when the service ends, when we all depart.  
I live madly now, a strange sadness is present  
a distant memory from my soldier's days,  
oh, good friend._

* * *

**Love Letters Chapter 2 – A Castle Fan Fiction**

After Ms. Ziglar threw them out of the history archives (okay, it was time to close), Castle and Beckett walked hand in hand toward the subway station, through the crisp October air. She was wearing one of the best of her dizzying selection of coats: a long, red woolen that made her look glamorous and unfathomable, brought out the red in her cheeks and yet in some way made her mysteriously cozy-looking. Rick just wore the brown leather jacket he'd won back from Slaughter in that arm wrestling match. He knew she liked its buttery softness, although he'd had to get it cleaned three times to remove the lingering stench of cigar smoke. They ambled down the stairs at a quick enough pace not to evoke the ire of every commuter behind them.

When their already-crowded subway train arrived, he held onto an overhead loop and she held on to him, bodies pressed together, a bit too warm and not caring, her head on his shoulder, him with his nose pressed gently to her temple, oblivious to momentum and gravity and inertia, as if they were lying alone together in bed, not surrounded by humanity and hurtling along at 45 mph through mutant-alligator-infested tunnels.

After one of the longest and most convoluted sentences ever written, they left the subway system and went back to the loft for dinner and then, oh, finally, bed.

They made love differently every time, and tonight was no exception, but the sameness of being _them_ made it a deep joy. As is often the case with men, Castle fell asleep on top of Kate, drooling adorably into her shoulder, and she lay awake for a while, just enjoying the weight he so carefully distributed across her. It always made him nervous, afraid he'd squish her, especially after the occasional scumbag got a punch in. But at those lovely times when she wasn't covered in the bruises that sometimes came from being (in his eyes) New York's Very Finest Indeed, she liked having the World's Biggest Teddy Bear, especially since he didn't shed much.

She closed her eyes, feeling him relax into sleep, and just before he was really out, she murmured, "That wasn't a stunt to get back at me for your birthday prank, was it?"

"What."

"The letters. You didn't have that all made up as an elaborate joke?"

He rolled off her. "What joke?" He pulled her in to spoon with him then purred appreciatively, "You smell like sex."

"As do you. But I'm beginning to smell a rat as well."

He'd been too close to sleep... he let out his usual deep sigh just before his brain went to dreamland. Which meant he probably wasn't guilty as charged. Kate's mind spun a little bit, like the cogs and wheels in a trick mechanism in an old chest his great-grandfather had left to his mother. _"Yes. Like this,"_ she thought, watching the wheels, her mind spinning, ticking and whirring, spiraling, time passing so slowly and so fast, coming full circle, a combination's letters falling into place, the tumblers aligned: _Snick. Tick. Click._ Tripping a gentle spring that unlocked a drawer that hadn't been opened in seventy years.

A tall young man in a turban bent over her and whispered a name in her ear, and she jumped bolt upright in bed, gasping, reaching out in the dark.

Startled, Castle jumped awake. "Beckett?" He squinted when she turned the lamp on.

"I know what the combination is." She pulled on fresh panties, her little cream silk slip and her lavender kimono.

Castle nodded. Sitting up naked in the bed, he stared at her raptly, giving her his very best come-back-to-bed look. "Strawberries and cream?"

OH, no. She was on a mission. "Martha's off on that Fall Colors tour thing, right?"

He deflated slightly. "Yellow and orange?"

"I've been thinking about your mother's chest."

"My muh... Please tell me that's not how it sounds."

"What? Eeiw. No! The trinket box that belonged to Rodgini. Martha said it has a locking compartment nobody knew how to open."

Martha had shown it to her a while ago, after Kate's apartment was firebombed, when she stayed with them a few days. It was a sturdy, handmade wooden gear box, 12" deep by 18" wide by 15" high. Rodgini had used it for his act on the road. Inside, the drawers and compartments were velvet-lined to protect the tools of his trade: a crystal ball, a telescoping dowsing rod, a battered tarot deck, a jeweler's loupe, the paste "Eye of the Goddess" ruby brooch he wore on his turban, a ceramic hand with palmistry charts glazed onto it, a tiny metal detector he'd invented himself but never patented – Rick had put the objects themselves out on display around the loft, and for years now, Martha had used the case for her extensive collection of costume jewelry. They went into Martha's room – which, in her usual disorganized haste to get out of town, looked like a tornado had blown through - and found Rodgini's case sitting atop her dresser, as ever.

Castle pulled it away from the wall and palmed it between his hands, and Kate smiled, reminded of Indiana Jones.

"Aaah, Beckett," he intoned. "The arcane secrets hidden in this trove of wonders."

Kate smiled wryly. "I guess magical thinking runs in the family."

"Apparently in yours as well, my dear Beckett." Now that it was away from the wall, Kate could see in Martha's mirror that

"RODGINI

THE GREAT"

Feats Of Mental Agility

was stylishly emblazoned in red and black paint across the back. Castle picked up the box and tilted it carefully onto its back. "Hidden compartment," he smiled. "Apparently he was something of a tinkerer. He loved making gadgets like this."

Somewhat to her relief, the lock looked nothing like what she'd dreamed about, which had been a simple barrel lock with cylinders to spin into place. Instead, there were four little brass wheels, each engraved with twelve tiny, seemingly random letters of the alphabet, like the numbers on a clock face. Kate peered at it, and Rick grabbed a set of Martha's spare reading glasses. Centered between them was a sort of four-pointed star.

He grinned. "Thought that might be a compass, but it didn't seem to work that way. I used to spend hours trying to figure this out. I have a whole notebook filled with four-letter words."

"I can only imagine," Kate murmured. "May I?"

He hesitated, then looked dismissively at his thick fingers. "Sure."

She used her nail to catch the grooves between letters, aligning them against indicators at what would be twelve o'clock, three, six, and nine.

A

K -+- L

E

Castle frowned, puzzled. _"Kale?"_

Kate "Clockwise. From the top. A, L, E, K. Alek."

The wheels, having tumbled into place with a soft, satisfying click, released a rectangular wooden panel about 6" x 8" embedded in the bottom of the trinket box. It popped up gently, as if on a weak, hinged spring. Castle said, "I'll grab my camera."

"No," Kate said, "Remember what happened when Gerardo Robera opened Slim Shiv Cooper's safe on live TV?"

"Whole lotta nothin'. You're right. A camera would jinx it."

"What, is this Shrodinger's trinket box?"

"For all I know there's a tiny miniature multidimensional cat in there. Or maybe a singing cartoon frog in a top hat."

Beckett rolled her eyes.

Castle sang, "Ev'REE boDEE do THA MICHIGAN RAAAAG..."

"You're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You are a total motormouth when you're nervous."

"What, you're not?"

Kate sighed. "No. I'm just a little freaked out."

Castle grew surprisingly serious for just a moment. "Me, too." He nodded toward the little door. "Go ahead."

Kate always kept her nails clipped short, so she used the tip of Martha's rat-tail comb to pry the door open.

Inside was wedged a bundle of envelopes, tied with a brown velvet ribbon stiff with age. Kate wanted to reach in, but Castle pulled a clean hankie out of his robe pocket - (_"How does he do that?"_) and handed it to Kate. "I'm sure Rodgini didn't worry at the time if they got bent up, but your hands are smaller." Kate nodded and, reaching in carefully, she pulled out the bundle of letters addressed to one

_Serjeant Richard Rodgers_  
_General Delivery_  
_In the Care Of Mrs. Gladys Cooper_  
_Schenectady, New York State,_  
_United States of America._

The writing was almost childish, plain and blocky, but clear enough. Now Castle perched the reading glasses on his nose (they went a little crooked), and he pointed, frowning, at the return address. "I can't read it, can you?"

Kate cleared her throat. "The alphabet's cyrillic, Castle."

His eyes went wide. "You think it's Serbian?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm almost scared to find out."

"I'll take it down to the library in the morning while you're stuck with paperwork. Velma will love to see it."

"Velma?"

"You know. Maddie Ziglar."

"This is so... odd." She frowned at the handkerchief, protecting the little parcel of history. "I won't be able to sleep now."

Rick kissed her. "I think I can help you with that. But not on my mother's bed."

"Right. Yeah, no."

* * *

•

The following Thursday, Castle texted Kate at 4:45 p.m.  
"Velma came through. Library, 5:30?"

"YES!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Castle Fanfiction: **

**Love Letters Part 3: Magic**

* * *

As before, Velma presented them with translation printouts and the archivally-protected letters, which were actually in much better shape than the moisture-damaged mess of shreds from Serbia.

They paged immediately to the back of the portfolio to find two photos, both snapshots.

The first label: _Goran, Johanna, and Aleksander Danilovic, Christmas, 1918. _It was quite faded; the scanned version had been enlarged and had the contrast enhanced a little. Goran was a boy of eight or so, Johanna was a girl about 12, and "That would be Alek," Rick murmured: a young man with a thick, carefully styled black mustache. All of them thin and pale with intensely gazing, long-lashed eyes. Johanna wore a hand-knit shawl, and her brothers, scarves. They stood up to their shins in dirty snow, outside a sad-looking little Orthodox chapel, hung with greenery but still with a fallen-down wall and some windows boarded up.

Kate said, "Well, that's Dickensian." But Castle saw through the dry smile, and took her hand. The lump in her throat gave her away. 

The second photo was labeled _"Alek, June 1919"._ It was a snapshot taken on a sunny day, Alek in a white shirt and dark vest, his hair a little unruly, his frame filled out after the privations of war-time, smiling shyly. He stood steadying a bicycle, fronting a grassy field with cows grazing and a mountain range in the distance.

"Oh, my God," Kate breathed. "Is that really him? The man who was sitting at the table with Dickie, with the wine?"

"I guess it is," Rick said. The shape of the man's eyes and the plane of his cheekbone were the very faintest echo of Kate's. Beckett rubbed her arms. "I have goosebumps."

"Yeah, isn't it cool?" Rick shivered deliciously. He read the first letter aloud. He found himself tempted to fall into a cheesy Dracula accent. He did all right, though, sensing it was not the time to tease her.

**"12 August, 1916**

_Dear Serjeant Rodgers,_

_It is such long time since we shake our hands goodbye on Corfu. I keep your address with no knowledge if you survive war or even think of me again after we board ship. It has been year but I think many time of you. _

_I go back to home soon I hope in Radenkovic. Never knowing what will I find, I must trust God but it is hard. I hear such terrible things, but I hear soon the war must be over, soon, we have already lost so much but keep fighting. _

_Since letter takes time, I hope you will send me one some day at my Pappa store, please be sure copy address carfully (sic) for the alphabet is not same. If only you speak Servian, this is easy!_

_My hope is you are safe and happy somewhere, and you practice the magic tricks I show you. I remember, in hospital, you make us all laugh. You very smart man and amuse many with your own smiling and capers. Perhaps that not correct word, since caper is "Aromatic flower bud often brined and sold in jars." English confuses me so much. Perhaps "High jinx" is better word, but it is not in Dictionary._

_I hope you get safely home to New York and marry nice woman for many children. There are many Servian women with no husband here if you are looking. Then you come visit! I wish you many happiness._

Your friend,

_Captain Aleksander Danilovic._

**"15 December, 1919**

_Dear Dickie,_

_Oh, my heart is so beating with excited! I now remember that you British and especially American are not so formal. I hope I did not offend you my Friend by using the Soldier's title. I had thought never to read letter from you and my English is sadly now rusted from not using. You are right, it is now three year and much has changed, but I do not ever forget you or your kindness to me in hospital at Corfu. I do not forget waking from Night Mare to a smiling dream when you are there in next bed over, singing at me. I was so shamed at screaming but you treat me like brother. When I wonder if good is still in world it is your face I remember. Always like boy but so strong._

_In September of 1918 I come home Radenkovik and all the fields and trees are nude and dead, people so hungry at harvest and black winter come. Most my family is gone. The typhus smite hard to Radenkovic and now my Pappa and Mamma are in arms of God. My brother was hanged by Austrians. I look and look for his grave but there are so many, never marked. The girl I was arrange to marry was from other village, nobody hear from her in 3 years. We have cousins took over the store of my Pappa, and my small Brother and Sister are in orphanage. I have quite the tussel (sic) with nuns to get them out and small boy Goran not reckonise (sic) me but Johanna know my face and she cry and stick to me like paste. _

_It is family pride we never beg but I have to argue for place in own home. My cousin give me job in Pappa store and let us share one room back in our old house. It better than trenches, yes. The childrens are back at school but stay with me now at night since I am Man of House. I am 27 and feel like crowded old man but so better than lonesome young man. My leg broke in war after I meet you. It heal up mostly but am faster on bike when I deliver the things. _

_I remember you say plan to returning United States when war over or British Army let you go. So I send the letter there and hope you get it._

We celebrate Christmas in few days. A najviše zdravlja i veselja_. I hear you English all say Mary Christmas or Happy Christmas. I wish that for you. I will rise toast for you on that day and wave my glass at compass points, as we did together at beach on Corfu. _

_Most your sincerely, _

_Alek.  
•_

* * *

**2 January, 1920**

_Dear Dickie, _

_We have Christmas small but nice in our little room, not listen to cousin party down the stairs in our old home. I save a little for small wine and we have apple cake. Johanna makes us all scarfs. They do not itch like army scarf. Here we are kind to our lambs and they give soft wools. _

_Johanna change much since small. She was up to my shoulder now, age only 15 but all fire spit, sometimes this girl so angry and not know why, but mostly good girl. Her English from school better than my. Goran is 10 and strong but such sad boy. He like magic tricks though, I teach him. When he very little they dress him like girl to hide from army and he still wear Johanna old dress sometime, it extra layer of wool to keep warm..."_

Kate grinned at Castle. "You know my great-grandpa George did a drag show for the USO in world war 2?"

"Nooooo! Really! Little Goran?"

Kate nodded. "Dad has the photos somewhere. Quick change from George to Georgina."

Castle shook his head, marveling.

Kate read on, and her voice took a strange, low pitch.

"_I am glad to write this in English because if anyone else here read, maybe they not understand. You may not want to write me back, but I must say._

_I would to say what keep me warm, my dearest Richard. They are my dreams. I dream of the time you try teach me to dance the Fox Trot on the beach. I dream of your strong arms around me. I dream of your big hands holding mine, when you laugh and fall trying to do Grape vine Dance. I dream of your smile when you think I am not looking at you. I dream of how your eyes flash in moonlight, not with just handsome but with something I do not know name. I dream of how big you laugh when I say small thing. But you do not laugh when I say big thing. You listen. But I am afraid to say._

_You are a good man and I am a good soldier, and no coward, but I am afraid to say and to not say. It would be easy to die and never speak."_

Kate stopped, tripping over the words, "I nearly die..." and read them again, then stopped and started again. _"I nearly die in trench and all I think of is you."_

Castle's breath caught in his throat. He looked hard at the text, and then at Kate, and they were both pale as ghosts. She took a deep breath._ "Some of my thought are bad and sinful, but I see your postcard with foolish jewel hat you send so kindly. Although it is forever, no time has passed though we are 5 year older. So long ago we shake hand and it is goodbye, and did it last forever? Dare I think, did you not want to let me go? I could grasp your hand for ever and it..." _Kate stopped, her voice shaking._ "would not be enough unless I could kiss your dimpled cheek instead." _

She dabbed at her eyes. Castle said, "Wow. Back then, that took some serious balls."

Kate nodded, leaned over, closed her eyes, and kissed him softly on her favorite dimple. "I feel like an idiot."

He smiled, puzzled, and caressed her hair. "Why?"

"We could have had it so easy, and I made it so goddamned hard."

He pursed his lips, his eyes sad a moment. "No regrets, remember?" and pulled her in for a hug, and she snuggled close. "Maybe if I hadn't been such a pain in the ass."

But sometimes you have to feel it, and then let it go. Keeping his arm around her shoulder, Castle picked up the letter where she'd left off.

_"When I read you maybe travel, my heart it jump with joy, but then I am embarrass. We have not even real room for us to sleep in, just attic, though not so bad summer. Maybe we camp like soldiers again, you and me. It is strange but sometimes I miss to sleep under the open sky, when in war all I want is roof and bed. Is so different sleeping on grass with no mud, and no bombs, just big fire! Except sometimes cows. You would be welcome with my opened heart." _

"_My dearest Friend, I think likely I not hear from you again after I say too much, but I could die tomorrow happy, holding this picture of you. It is last thing I look at before sleeping, and first thing to see in morning though it does not look at me. But is great and mysterious Rodgini, to make me smile. I pray you not think to bad of one who wants only to be your loving friend forever, and hope I start new year right even if my thoughts are wrong. I pray your understand and for giveness _(sic).

_Truly very yours,_

_Alek"_

"Jeez," said Beckett. She sighed a little. "Could you read the next one too?" In truth, she felt such an eery crawl down her spine that she almost cowered into Castle's arm across her back.

Castle nodded. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

**February 3, 1920**

_My dearest Dickie,_

_There must be storm at sea, your letter take many weeks to reach me and each day I am in despair that I have ruin our friendlyness. I give up and know you will never write me again. Then today the postman comes, and I read with shaking your so very sweet and kind letter. Ah! Only reading it brings me such joy, and to see my name in your hand writing, knowing that your hand connects to your dear heart. There is no words in any dictionary for my even to say. _

_Your under standing, I cannot say how it break my heart and make it beat again stronger for ever. I have to look for this word depravity in dictionary. I am so sad, but it make me angry also, for my love is as pure as husband for wife. You know this, and I think you feel this too, yes? Now maybe we make plan. You say you may come here, I am happy. You say perhaps we may come there, there is no word happy enough to say. _

_I must think how I will speak with Johanna and small Goran. Life here is hard but we do not expect more. From the wars I see how big world is, and you are very very far away. We have little money saven (sic) but I can try harder if we see a way to come to you. I work in store but there is other work in reconstruct, and sometimes I do tricks on street or at festival for small moneys. Goran is old enough to work so hard but they pay little to young boys. But both childrens study English now, and Johanna try to teach me better, but she not have much patience for her old brother. Johanna is 16 now and I think I must find her husband soon for this attic is so small and she is like cat, want to go out but no place to go. The village boys of her age all died in war." _

Kate smiled a little. "PMS. Poor kid. I thought I was gonna rip my hair out at that age."

Rick nodded. "And this is why I taught Alexis how to play Laser Tag."

Kate graced him with an eye-roll, but it was half-hearted. He went on reading.

"_Here is photo of Johanna and Goran and my self after war. Also, Here also is photo from last summer, it is only me. Village have midsummer festival and someone have camera, he take my picture and is nice sunny day. Maybe someday soon you come see this place. It have changed much from battle land, but is still so much to fix. Maybe too much to fix and not see the broken. _

_I see pictures of New York in news paper at some times and always look for your face on the busy streets. It is big and new. Maybe is a place for us there. _

_My love Always and Forever,_

_Alek"_

•

Rick cleared his throat, thinking how empty the streets of New York had seemed the summer after Kate was shot. "All those faces, and none of them the right one," he said mournfully.

Kate patted his hand, remembering the summer of 2010, him off in the Hamptons with Gina. "I know." She flipped the page. "My turn."

**"March 27, 1920**

_My dearest Dickie,_

_We are all doing well here, though I have had little cough. Johanna has written you a small letter for practice and it is in here because this way we share the stamp. She tells me I must be more carful about definite articles. I do not know what this means, but she is so fierce I know she must believe it important. Maybe some day you explain this to me when we are sitting on porch drinking lemonade. Or I will bring you special plum drink Slivovitz and we will give toast to the four compass point. _

_The store very busy this Spring, praise God. The roads are better now, so more things come and go. So many people want new cloths or new things that were broken in war, but there is not much money, so we try but often no money. We are traden cheese or potatoes, not even bread. I can not trade strawberries for the ticket to the United States. At store, One girl offered kiss for thread so I gave her little kiss on cheek, then she ask for needle and I kiss other cheek, it is not so bad. Then she want bolt of cotton cloth and want to take off her dress! But no, I am trying to be a gentle man. Like you my brother. Maybe I will find true love in New York, United States of America._

_I am letting Johanna to read this letter, because we share the stamp and she want check my English. And if I find she trade kiss for things at store or any other place, there is big trouble. This is her simple dessert for she must read my letter to you, my Friend. She wish the stamp not be wasted by my terrible English. But I make sure she not see your other letters because we discuss war things. _

_I have to tell you one grand news. The postal office in my town has got a private telephone booth now! I can sit in small room alone with no One but your voice, and pay money and call upon you, or you may call upon me. I do not know how to use a telephone, but I will ask. The post master says that the exchange goes from Belgrave to Radenkovic. Can you find me if we agree upon a time?_

I hope God has made world small enough that I may please hear your voice again.

_Yours truly always,_

_Aleksander Danilovic"_

•

"_March 27, 1920_

_Dear. Leftenant. Rodgers, _

_Hello, my name is Johanna Danilovic, and I am sixteen years old. I am writing to you to say hello and my brother is Aleksander Danilovic. He is a very brave man, he was a hero in the war and he has a medal He say you were also in the war. I do not understand that you fight with English but live now in America. Is that in New York United States? I look for New York on the glob (sic) at the school, but the glob (sic) is very small and a part of it is burnt away. _

_He says you hope to come to Radenkovic and say hello. Then sometimes he says you wish us to come and visit in SCHENECTADY. That is a very foolish name for a town. Is it really in New York? _

_I am sometimes worried about my brother Alek. He says that like him you are magician, but you do not know any magic tricks. He says your name is Mr. Great Rodgini and then your name is Leftenant Rodgers. You are English and you are American, and you are coming to see us but we are going to see you. Alek is my brother and brave man but his life, it is so hard. You please do not make his life more harder. _

_I know you are almost thirty six but there are older men here who wish to marry me. Alek says he loves you as if you are our brother and then when I know you, I will love you too. I do not want to marry an old man even if you are handsome, but if we come to America, maybe you know someone who would make a good match for me. Also Alek and Goran will need wifes. They are like small boys, and do not like to think of such things. _

_Thank you for reading my letter to you, Mr. Rodgers, and I hope that some day we will come to understanding and friendship._

_Very truly yours,_

_Miss Johanna Danilovic_

_Radenkovic, Serbia"_

"Well, now, she's quite the pistol," Rick grinned.

"Don't say it... donnnn't..."

"Runsinthefamily" he blurted. She slapped his elbow, but not hard.

"I told you not to say that!"

"But if I didn't, I'd probably explode."

"I'll make you explode..." she whispered.

She traced a hand across his lap under the table. He narrowed his eyes, then squirmed, and wrapped his paw around hers atop the table to keep himself out of trouble. "Ahem. I'll just - read now," he said.

**May 23, 1920**

_My darling Dickie,_

_I have just put up the telephone handset and must sit here to think a few moments before leaving the telephone booth. I pray the operators did not hear or I will be arrested! _

_I hope this call did not cost you too much, and if I had anything left, I would spend* it calling on you. Nobody can imagine that we would find such understanding together through a wire thousands of miles long. Now that I cannot hear you, I cannot bear that you are so far away! _

_My heart is still running like a rabbit. My hands ache to touch you. I close my eyes and I see you lying in that hospital bed across from me with the moonlight on your shoulders. I feel as if you have torn me apart, and I do not want to change it. I only want more. _

_I do not mean to be so serious, or appear so desperation. It tears my breath away. And now I want to laugh, for you are so worried about me. I promise the cough is getting better, but I will see a doctor as you asked me._

_I know we cannot phone again soon, because the money must all be save for us to be together. But I long to hear your voice again. Until it is time, let us write more, not less. And as you have asked me, I will take the best of care, that we may see one another all the sooner. _

_True love always,_

_Your Alek_

Castle waggled his eyebrows at the footnote:_  
(*Historian's note: The word __spend__ may be a pun based on a contemporary vernacular English term for orgasm, which may have been in common usage amongst tavern-going British and American soldiers of the period.) _

"Ah," said Rick. "So it's not just 'The Pearl.'"

Kate arched an eyebrow. "You read Victorian erotica?"

"I'm sure Poe did, no reason I shouldn't."

Kate decided to change the subject, but made a mental note to have another browse through Castle's highest book shelf. She said, "Were you named for Alek, do you think?"

Rick shook his head. "I had no idea the man existed. I thought Mother had named me for my dad."

Kate nodded. "Alexander's a very common name."

"Yeah," Rick said glumly, "And who knows what Jackson Hunt's real name is."

"Oh, you mean Anderson Cross? It's probably something like Wilburt Snively."

"Probably. Would you still love me if I was named Wilburt Rodgers?"

"Of course not. I will also dump you if you go bald or become a registered Democrat. Let's keep reading."

"I _am_ a registered Democrat. You knew that."

"Guess our days are numbered, Castle. Keep reading." She relented at his crestfallen expression and kissed his cheek sweetly.

He looked a little uncertain and checked his hairline for recession. "Okay."

"**May 28, 1920**

_My Dearest Dickie, _

_I write this with trembling hand. You were wise to tell me See The Doctor. He tells me that my coughs have become tuburcular. (sic) I did not have it during the war, but somehow I have it now. He thinks it is from sleeping in the damp attic. I think maybe coughing man I meet in tavern when I make delivery. _

_Since I am so sick, I cannot come to you in New York. And also, since I am so sick, I think you should not come here. I would rather die than cause you harm, and I could not stop from embracing you if I were to see your beloved face again. _

_I have asked doctor to look at Goran and Johanna also, and he tells me they are healthy. I can no longer sleep in the same room with them, and must go to a sanitorium for their health and my own. I fear for their happiness once I am gone, but there is a baker in town who is looking for a strong wife, and so they will never lack for bread. He is not too bad a man and he is not so much older than you though he is bald and has big stomach. _

_The doctor tells me that with good care my turburculus will slow in growth but never leave me. If there was something I wanted forever and always, that was not this thing. Perhaps when I feared I would be punished for all I have done, I was right. Yet, my dearest most darling man, it did not feel like enough. No moment I spend with you could ever be enough." _

Rick lost it there. Kate pulled out her own clean hankie, because she was learning, and handed it to him. She said gently, "Don't be embarrassed. Russian and Slavic lit are full of this. The men cry more than the women do."

"I've read Tolstoy, okay?"

"Do you want to stop here?"

"No." He hicupped slightly. "Just give me a moment." He got up and went to the water fountain, came back and sat with her, looking more composed.

Kate picked it up:  
_"Once again, I am broken into two halfs as you found me at war in hospital, but will never be put together again. I am so sorry. I am so very sorry I did not embrace you and kiss you when we were together. I denied what I knew and my spirit failed you. I am so sorry my body fails you now. A part of me thinks it is only right that you forget me now, and find another to love. Please find a way to redeem this sweet wrong between us. And a part of me prays that when I am gone, you will hold my soul like the tiniest bird in the nest of your heart, so that when you leave this world we will fly together, wherever God sends us. Whether it be heaven or hell I do not care."_

Rick and Kate shared a look of shocked recognition. If they hadn't said the literal words, they knew the long, consuming ache of desperation and loneliness. Kate swallowed tears down the back of her own throat, and Rick cupped her jaw in his hand. They kissed once, lips just touching, with their eyes wide open, then pressed their foreheads together a moment, and Kate caressed his face with gentle fingertips, whispering, "Heaven, Hell, Manhattan..."

Kate's voice hitched as she read to the end of Alek's letter.

_"I know this phrase So Long that some people say. You said it to me as you shook my hand, with your other hand on my shoulder, years ago on the dock in Corfu. It has already been so long, so very long, and now it must be goodbye. I hope not forever. I hope love is stronger than death. If it is, I am with you now, and until eternity ends._

_Always and forever,_

_your Alek"_

Across the archive room, an elderly man in thick glasses peered over at them, cleared his throat, and looked back down at the microwave-oven-sized book he was perusing.

Kate rubbed Rick's back. He blew his nose as quietly as possible, which is rather like blowing a trombone as quietly as possible: the cows in the next field will still come running. The old man across the room glared.

"Shall we finish this?" Rick murmured.

"I don't think we'll ever really finish this," Kate smiled sadly, and he smiled back. They held hands as if they would never let go.

She began the next letter.

"**June 19, 1920**

_Dear Leftenant Rodgers,_

_I am writing you with a heavy heart to inform you that my beloved elder brother, Captain Aleksander Danilovic, has passed on to the arms of God. He was sick only a little while with the Tuberculosis which is often slow. The doctor was surprised that he went so quick and quiet. My brother Goran and me are not sick. Alek used the money you sent to pay for a room in hospital, but that took very little of your money. He was very sad to be alone. I think he died of a broken heart more than broken lung. He spoke so many times of his gratefulness for your generosity and friendship, and he asked me to thank you again before he died. Alek gave me the rest of the money you sent. I am to marry a nice baker man during harvest festival in September. My cousin does not want us in his home now that Alek has gone, so until then we stay back at orphanage in Belgrave. It is not comfortable here, but it is safe enough. _

_Alek told me to use rest of money for my dowry but my new husband will not know of it if I send it back to you. It is $113 dolars (sic) and 12 cents. I will keep the 12 cents for postage and because the coins will rattle in the envelope. I hope you do not mind too much. Please let me know if you really want me to send it back to you since the money was for Alek, not me._

_Until then, Good-bye, Leftenant Rodgers, and thank you for making my brother smile with your kind friendship. Alek was not like every man one meets. Did you know we all shared a room? Some times in his sleeping he would have bad dreams from the war. But some times he would have good dreams, and he would say your name Dickie when he was asleep. Some times I saw him holding your card picture under his pillow. He died at the sanitorium with your foolish turban picture in his hand, and I made sure it was buried with him, next to his heart._

Maybe the Great Rodgini would like to know that. Maybe understood him. I do not think I ever will. I will pray for his soul, and I will pray for yours.

_Sincerely, _

_Miss Johanna Danilovic. _

_St. Joseph Basilica Orphanage_

_Belgrave, Serbia. _

**TELEGRAM**

_AUGUST 13, 1920, 4:55 PM_

_TO: LEFTENANT RICHARD RODGERS  
HOTEL BORDEAUX FRANCE  
FROM: MISS DANILOVIC_

_ST. JOSEPH BASILICA ORPHANAGE_

_BELGRAVE SERVIA_

RECEIVED YOUR LETTER OF 31 JULY

_DID NOT BELIEVE UNTIL TELEGRAM TODAY YOU ARE IN FRANCE? _

_WILL BE PACKED READY ON YOUR ARRIVAL ST JOS._

_ETERNAL GRATITUDE TO GREAT RODGINI._

_MY BRO._

Rick started up from something like a dream state. "My _what_?"

Kate smiled. "Yeah. Telegraphic abbreviation. Bro."

"That's it?"

"The last one." They shared a wistful sigh. This chapter of the story was over. Almost.

He gathered up the letters and transcripts, and went to the archival desk, where Maddy Ziglar was typing busily, her pale, round face lit monitor-blue, hovering over the counter like a rising, bespectacled moon. He felt oddly shy.

"So, um, thank you for taking care of getting the correspondence transcribed."

She nodded. "Thank you for the donation."

Castle shook his head. "We'd like to keep all the original letters. You made scans of them?"

"Well, yes, of course, they're in the archive file, but they'll just fall apart now that they're in the open. I just gave them to you to look over. They should be climate controlled."

Kate and Rick looked at each other and smiled. Kate said, "Was Mr. Castle's financial donation sufficient to cover the archiving and translation of the letters?"

"More than twice over, but they're part of history. It's one thing to have half a correspondence set from the first world war. It's quite another to have the full compliment with photos. Also it caught my fancy. I looked up the Great Rodgini. He was quite the character."

She brought up the file on her computer, but Rick held up a hand to stop her. "Leftenant Richard 'Dickie' Rodgers, born 1886, Sheffield, England. Emigrated to the United States, 1904. Worked as a newspaper salesman and itinerant street magician. Enlisted in British Army, September 1914. Honorable discharge and return to United States, November 1918. Worked as copy editor for three competing Schenectady newspapers... uh... no, no, let me think... 1917 to 1952. Worked nights as a mentalist and magician off and on, on the vaudeville circuit, 1918 to 1936. Married a former Zeigfield redhead named Margaret O'Leary, 1922. Three children: Alexander, Theodora, and Georgette. Divorced amicably, 1962. Died September 20, 1969."

Velma looked a little disappointed and a little amazed at the same time. "You've just about covered it."

"He was my great-grandfather," Rick smiled.

"Really!" Velma spun her monitor around. "Have you seen this one?"

It was a two-color lobby card that was likely reduced in size from a poster: A man in a striped turban, with a jewel at the forehead, holding a crystal ball. The unnerving directness of his gaze, and his suggestive smirk, gave him an aura of sex and mystery. Beckett grinned. "Ok, he looked even more like you straight-on."

Castle looked a bit unsettled. "Is it the eyeliner? He looks more like me than I do."

Beckett read the bold orange lettering aloud:

**"RODGINI**  
**The Great**

**Sees All**

**Knows All**

**Tells All"**

Rick leaned over the librarian's shoulder, and Kate observed his very careful line between friendliness and flirtation. The man was a master. "Anything about George and Joanie Daniels?"

"Oh, yes. George worked with him for a few years then fell in love and married a nice girl, settled in Toronto, did occasional magic shows at libraries and the zoo, places like that. Joanie worked as Rodgini's assistant a few years longer, then married, turned out three kids, and opened a costume and magic supply shop in SoHo."

"Really," said Rick, intrigued. "Magic Moments? I loved that place. It closed when I was a teen."

"Oh, I have a picture of it from 1982, right here, their 35th anniversary party."

Rick smiled. "They had real magicians come in and do shows on the mezzanine sometimes. The place was huge."

Kate had gone very quiet. "I think that's my Grandpa George. Can you zoom in a little?"

There was a photo of a magician flanking a dark-haired toddler girl in her mother's arms. They were smiling at a boy in a top hat, who was holding out a white rabbit for the little girl to pet.

Kate and Rick said simultaneously, "That's me. That's you?"

Velma said it for them. "Omigod."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Island of Death**

Usually when they traveled, he'd badger her: "Do you have the tickets?"

But this time she was the badger. "Do you have the letters?" ...when they packed the day before. Before they got in the town car, before they got on the flight, halfway through the flight, at baggage claim in Munich and Athens, at the car rental, at the ferry, and now at the hotel.

He'd smirk at her. "I thought you had them." A momentary look of anxiety would flit across her face, and then she'd scowl at him and slap his arm. And then she'd grin and kiss him. It made him so damn happy to tease her, and she allowed herself the luxury of indulging that ridiculous joy.

Under the last name Beckett, they booked into a little 10-room hotel in Corfu, _Ble Ilio_, just steps away from the beach. They'd timed it carefully. The moon was waxing, and the second night they were there, it would be full. The hotel had blindingly-white, cracked stucco walls and cobalt-blue doors. Kate had finally found something bluer than Rick's eyes, but only just barely.

The spare, sweet little room had a cool, polished wooden floor, tile around the doorways, and the blue doors. She had a thing for doors. They set down their bags with a mutual sigh: _Here we are._ She said, "Do you have the letters?"

This time he really took advantage. "Search me."

She did, extensively, finding exactly what she wanted although perhaps it would never have worked on paper. Afterward, they showered in an old clawed bathtub. A looped rail was hung with a clammy curtain that clung to their skin if they got out of line. They huddled together under the low water pressure, and Kate said, "You could always take a shower by yourself if you're having so much trouble fitting in the tub."

"Mrs. Castle, where's your sense of fun?"

She dropped the soap deliberately and smirked, "Down there somewhere, Mr. Beckett."

* * *

Out in the courtyard, old Nikos vaguely heard them giggling and splashing. His hearing was muffled, as if they were a block away, yet the sound was clear in his mind, like the tinny recording on an old speaker when you'd actually heard the concert and your memory just fills in all the scratchy spots. Nikos was stooped with age, brown and lined, the last few hairs hidden under a traditional sailor's cap, but his hands were still strong. He liked to repair nets, which kept his arthritis at bay. He smiled to himself, remembering. "Newlyweds."

"What, Pappou?" The boy reminded Nikos of his own little boy so long ago, but actually his son had died at nineteen in that second war, the other big one, leaving a seventeen-year-old widow pregnant and alone; he'd kept her on at the inn and finished raising his grandson when she died of cancer a decade later. Now this child, Titus was three or four more generations down the line. Nikos had lost track, all the descendants moved on, only young Karolos (now 45) and his sweet English wife left to run the inn, as well as Karolos's brother Stavros off on his boat. Maybe little Titus would run the inn someday. Maybe he would go off into space and become an Imperial Stormtrooper. Hard to say. Nothing lasts forever, including an old man's train of thought.

"Nothing," the old man smiled toothlessly. The boy was playing with a remote-control car. When it smacked into the kitchen garden at center of the courtyard, its hard little plastic wheels and fenders released the scent of bruised rosemary and oregano. Sun-warmed, the air itself seemed alive and perfumed with herbs and sea and hope and dreams.

Kate and Rick got out of the shower and dried off, then collapsed onto the springy, sproingy, bumpy, lumpy, hilariously noisy bed. Rick rolled over on his back and grinned up at the ceiling.

Kate said, "I think this is what's referred to as 'rustic charm'."

"Accent on 'rust'."

They napped a while, then spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the island. Over on the west side, they found a nice place to eat freshly-caught seafood, pasta, and crusty bread kissed with olive oil. They took a walk out to the waterfront and watched the sun set over the Ionian Sea. Kate gazed out over the water, which had turned to a molten gold. "It's been a long time since we were in L.A. together," she smiled. "Always seems so strange to see the sun set over the ocean."

Rick nodded. "Feels so backwards to us New Yawkers. Did you make it to Santa Cruz when you were at Stanford?"

"Only to the beach part. I'm not that crazy about boardwalks. But I loved Monterey."

Rick's eyes crinkled into an open, unself-conscious smile. "Sea otters."

"See otters? Where?" she shaded her eyes and looked out over the water.

Rick chuckled. "I love it when you're even worse than me."

* * *

When the evening's cool breeze picked up, they drove back to the hotel. Despite weariness from their travels, time was precious and they didn't want to miss anything. They stayed up late, chatting with the few other hotel guests (all of them British except Rick and Kate) and the owners. Karolos was old Nikos' great grandson and aside from attending cooking school in France, had lived on Corfu for much of his life. Beatrice (aka Bea) was an English charmer who'd first come to the inn as a child, then returned on holiday when she was 35, took one look at the widowed Karolos, and never looked back. Bea had a degree in finance, and it was her touch that kept the inn running smoothly, leaving Karolos to do what he excelled at: amazing cooking, and storytelling. Despite the Greek economy (and quite a few of the mattresses, apparently) being on constant verge of collapse, they were doing reasonably well. Titus, their mop-headed little boy, was seven, and fond of toys that made noise at 6 a.m. Earplugs were provided free of charge.

Rick and Kate finally turned in for bed when the moonlight left the courtyard. Despite the lumpy mattress, they had very intriguing sex because they were trying to stay so damn quiet. Tuckered out, they slept like logs. In the morning, Rick had a little trouble straightening up. "Feels like I slept on a Slinky," he grumbled. Kate rubbed the knot in his lower back, and he purred contentedly.

She said, "You want to get the kinks out?"

"Kinks?" He grinned.

* * *

After a delectable breakfast with plenty of strong, hot French press coffee, eggs, homemade pastries and locally-grown fruit, Karolos and Nikos took their guests down to the 30' boat docked at the Marina. The boat's name was _Iremia_, and she was a sweet little thing with an enclosed cabin. There they were introduced to Stavros, Karolos' brother, who was about five years older but otherwise a carbon-copy, with olive-brown skin and his curly gray hair buzzed short. Stavros actually lived on the boat, and made daily trips ferrying tourists and supplies out to Vidos, a tiny island ½ mile east of Corfu, where the Serbian War Memorial perched on a low knoll. In 1915, under threat of death or conscription into the German army, thousands of troops and civilians - many of them orphaned boys - had made a long, daunting trek on foot, in rain, mud, and snow, over the mountains through Montenegro and Greece. They'd found a refuge of sorts on Corfu, and the sick or injured were isolated in Allied hospitals set up on Vidos. Castle and Beckett stared across at the little island, where despite the Allies' best efforts, hundreds of war refugees had succumbed to disease and injury.

She said, "It doesn't look like the Island of Death now."

Stavros said, "Oh, most of the old hospital buildings and armaments are gone. It's nice there now. Quiet."

"Island of peace," Kate said dreamily. Rick squeezed her hand.

The water was calm and so clear they could frequently see the bottom tinted a deep, sparkling blue. The old man spoke quietly, his black eyes squinted nearly shut against the water's glare. Stavros translated:

"I came out with my father three times a day, bringing bread and big kettles of fish soup, oranges and olives. The Serbian refugees had to be isolated here, so many were sick and starving. Men and boys who had to carry one another when they could barely walk themselves. The Allied soldiers buried the Serbs at sea, over there where the water was deeper. So many."

He paused and cleared his throat. "It was with honor, but it was a terrible thing all the same, the bodies wrapped in burlap and weighed down with stones. Nobody wanted to eat the fish caught in those waters, but it was lean times, everyone was hungry. We had troll lines off the back of the boat, and we made good fish stew out of anything we caught – except shark of course. Maybe the dead would have been proud that they could give something back to the living. They were brave men, the Serbs."

That was sobering. Castle said, "Thank you for telling us." He spoke more directly to Nikos, but Stavros had to translate. "Do you mind my asking, how old were you?"

The old man shrugged. "I was born in 1906. November." Then he and Stavros laughed at the astonishment on their faces. "I would rather wear out than rust out."

Kate asked, "Did you get to know any of the refugees?"

Nikos responded, "Toward the end of 1915, when the sick had either died or gotten better, my father let me come onto the island. Sometimes we would bring bottles of wine, and the men who had regained their strength would come out for fresh air, drink and tell stories. They would sit in the sun, reading newspapers or letters from their homes. They would laugh, and talk, and tell stories. Sometimes a man or boy would cry, or if they heard a loud noise..." The old man's voice shook, then he mimed cowering, head buried beneath his own arms a moment.

Rick said, "Did they ever celebrate?"

The old man chuckled. "Oh, yes. When you look death in the face too much, you either fall down or you get up and dance." Nikos' face erupted into a chuckling mass of wrinkles. "They tried to get the nurses to go off with them, but most of those girls were too smart..." he winked at them. "The _smartest_ girls, they knew how to have a good time. I think there were a few quiet little weddings that year."

Stavros glanced up at the sky, checking the sun's angle. "Armistice day is almost here. You were wise to come now. In two days the island will be overrun, and the water full of red carnations."

"In memoriam?"

Stavros and Nikos nodded. Nikos said, "Every day I am surprised I am still alive, but perhaps I will make it to the centennial after all."

Rick said, "What's the secret of your endless youth?"

"Fish, cigars, and regularly getting my clock wound..." he made a little motion with his hand, and the four of them roared with laughter. Rick looked closely at Stavros, suddenly realizing he had translated this discussion on a hundred boat trips if not a thousand, yet he was the soul of patience and the laughter was genuine. Stavros clearly loved the old man, loved his life. Rick's own father, distant and mysterious, crossed his mind. So many stories, never shared. After a moment he felt Kate's knee bump his, and her hand spread over the top of his, squeezing gently. He gave her a little smile, always grateful for her quiet support. She understood about the things one can miss from one's life.

They spent the day on Vidos, eating lunch at the little cafe, where they left Nikos and Stavros to rest a while with the old friends who ran the place. Rick and Kate took a hike to the highest point, drinking copious water in the dry, cool autumn air. The view was simply astonishing: The 360º view of the Greek coastline, Albania to the north, Corfu, and the vague hint of Italy's coastline to the west.

Afterward they collected Nikos and Stavros, and went to the Serbian memorial museum. They spent hours poring over the old photographs, watching the short videos and slide presentation, and asking questions of the docent. His name was Gavric, a small, sad-eyed man with a comb-over, who clearly had vast knowledge of the subject despite some limitations in English. After greeting Stavros and Nikos as old friends, he showed them around the rooms, which were not so large and not as climate-controlled as one might hope. There were mannequins wearing uniforms from the war, paraphernalia and weapons in glass cases, arcane-looking medical supplies, photos on the walls (some original, some enlarged copies with captions), many books, and file drawers full of letters. Some of the more delicate documents had been preserved on microfiche. A middle-aged, professorial man sat at one of the fiche stations, squinting at the text as he cranked the images forward and back. There was a slide carousel that smelled of burnt dust and made a loud clacking noise from one slide to the next, projecting grainy sepia images on a dark wall. The genocide against Serbia had been something of a prototype for the Holocaust of World War 2. Some of the images were hard to bear: scattered bodies; starving children; hollow-eyed soldiers with fierce mustaches; stacks of bones, sorted in a weird attempt at order; matronly women hanging from a neat row of gibbets along a village promenade, their starched, folksy aprons a stark contrast to the brutality and senselessness of their deaths.

There was a collection of photos from the Vidos Island hospital, varying in tone from nightmarish to pathetic to humorous. Old Nikos pointed proudly to a photo of a group of boys, himself the youngest, playing some kind of kickball. They were all skinny legs and sharp elbows. He said, "They were the last of the boys to go back to Serbia. One of them promised to write me. I got a few letters, then nothing."

He looked suddenly tired, and Stavros took his arm. "Let's sit a while, eh, Pappou?"

They found a bench. Kate tapped Rick's backpack gently. "Do you have our letters?"

This time he didn't tease her. "Of course." He pulled out the documents, and they walked over to Gavric, who was reading a paperback mystery novel at the front desk.

Rick glanced at the docent's book and hid the slight disappointment. Patterson's latest, translated into Serbian. Gavric looked up with a pleasant smile. "Do you have any further questions?"

Kate said, "We wonder if you would find this interesting." She handed him the portfolios containing the scanned letters, photos, and translation from both Richard and Aleksander.

Intrigued, Gavric took the portfolios and gave them a quick once-over. "Ohhhh..." he murmured, with a strange mix of excitement and regret. "Where did you get this things?"

Kate and Rick exchanged a glance. "They were in the family. They're the reason we came."

"I am so glad you come now, tomorrow I would be so busy to look." Perusing the documentation, he chuckled in delight. "Ah, you know Ms. Ziglar?" He chuckled somewhat lasciviously. "I meet her at a historian's convention a few times. A real Velma, if you know what I mean..."

Kate frowned a little. "Uh..." and Rick gave her a gentle dig in the ribs with his elbow.

"Once the glasses come off, it is time to open another bottle of wine," Gavric sighed pleasantly at the memory. "She had these letters translated, I see. And it is a masterful job on the conservancy. That must be Misha Balovik's work. Oh, my. I bet he peed kittens at these naughty men."

He started reading, becoming more and more enthralled as he compared the two sets of letters. His hand was actually shaking a little, and he had to blow his nose. Kate said, "We'll just – feel free to read it over. Let us know if you have any questions."

Gavric laughed. "That is my words!" He went back to reading.

It was hard for both of them not to hover, for some reason wanting to watch every reaction. Finally, Beckett hauled Castle outside into the late-afternoon sunlight. The sun would soon disappear behind the high ridge of Corfu. Feeling a little jet-lagged, Rick went for an old wooden bench on the front porch. It had three little brass plaques in English, Greek, and most likely Serbian:

_"This oak bench is the last remaining  
salvaged from the main hospital on Vidos.  
Dedicated 1989." _

The bench was warmed by the sun's last rays, and Kate curled on her side next to him, her head on his thigh. He stroked her hair, and soon they were sleeping like babies.

Gavric wiped the tears from his eyes and looked around for his guests. Stavros had started the slow task of walking Nikos back to their boat, and the old scholar at the microfiche bid his good evening, heading back to the waterside cafe where his own boat was moored. Gavric stepped out onto the porch and stared at the sleeping couple on the bench, then shook his head and stole back inside. Seeing them on that old bench sparked a memory. He went to a certain file, and found one old photo among the thousands. It was from page 6 of the London Weekly Gazette, November, 1915: two weary soldiers sitting on that same wooden bench. The British soldier had his left arm in a sling but was strong and hale; the Serbian soldier lay asleep with his head on the other's thigh, and the Brit had laid a hand tenderly on his friend's shoulder. It was captioned humorously:

"_The British infantry serves as a jolly good pillow in a pinch!"_

Of course they were not the same people. How could they be the same people? That was almost a hundred years ago, soldiers become friends, exhausted from nights of shell-shock, disease, the stench of death, and pain. This couple was spoiled and rich and hadn't a care in the world. And she was a woman. Gavric chuckled and called himself a ridiculous old fart.

When the sun had gone and the sky turned the color of ripe peaches, the cool breeze awoke Beckett, and she turned on her back, smiling up at the underside of Castle's jaw. "Hey, there."

"Mmm," he mumbled. "The loveliest woman in the world has her head on my lap. How do these things keep happening to me?"

She stretched and sat up. "Must've played your cards right in a past life," she grinned.

Gavric poked his head out. "I am just locking up. You would like your letters back?"

Beckett and Castle exchanged a look, and she said, "Oh, no, they belong here."

"Really?" the little man's face lit up. "But they are family letters."

Rick shrugged. "We have copies, and there are backups at the New York Public Library."

Gavric shook his head sadly, "I should not keep these." He gestured around the room. "Half the items here are falling apart because of salt water in the air." He handed the original letters back regretfully.

Castle said, "Would you like the scans and translations?"

"Oh, yes! But..." he coughed delicately. "We do not have money budgeted for more purchases."

Kate glanced over at a vase of red carnations, labeled for sale as memorials to cast on the water. They looked slightly wilted, their crimson petals tipped with burgundy. She said, "May I have one of these in trade?"

Gavric beamed. "I would be most grateful for that arrangement."

Kate snapped the carnation off its long, blue-green stem and sniffed the petals. "Cloves and honey," she smiled. She tucked the flower behind her ear. Gavric locked up the museum and they walked down the path, chatting about life in general. He had a wife and two grown children, and a dog named Lucky. When Gavric took a fork in the path to another dock, they waved goodbye with a smile and a "Thank you!"

* * *

Rick and Kate walked on together down the stony path, holding hands. The moon was up behind Vidos, casting a silver glow on the sea around it, but they were still in the island's shadow.

Back on _Iremia_, Stavros was fishing with a lantern – not strictly legal, but certainly productive – and had a nice haul in two big white plastic buckets. Nikos was bundled up in a puffy down jacket and covered in a fleece blanket with a _World Cup 2011_ insignia emblazoned across it. He was a bit dozy; it was hard to tell whether he was asleep or awake. He glanced up the path and said quietly to Stavros, "Do you remember the ghosts?''

Stavros chuckled. "Which ones? The island's full of them."

"The dancing soldiers. On the beach." The moon lit up the water now, the island's shadow shrinking back on to the sand. "They're back."

Stavros squinted in the back. A couple of tall, pale figures moved together through the trees, walking slowly. He murmured, "Those aren't ghosts. That's just the Becketts. Look, they're holding hands."

Rick paused and kissed Kate, then came down the dock and tossed his backpack gently onto _Iremia_'s stern bench. He pointed briefly toward the little beach. "You mind if we take a moment?" The two Greek men nodded and smiled. Rick returned to his wife, and they jumped from the dockside onto the beach, laughing softly, staggering a little as they regained their balance. The moon peeled the island's shadow back from the silvery sand, and in its light, they danced.

Nikos said, "I have not seen that in years."

Stavros' mouth had gone dry. "Not since I was a little boy. But it's the same place." He took a long pull from his hip flask and handed it to the old man, who took a swallow and smiled.

"Foxtrot," said Nikos.

On the beach, Rick stopped moving, and Kate stared up at him. She shivered, seized with the same cold that swept over him.

He said, "I can't... I'm afraid to take my eyes off you, but I also want..." their arms were around one another then, so tightly, his kisses landing on her hair, her forehead. He bent and their mouths met, eyes open. It was beyond sex or love or lust or need or wanting. He picked her up, her legs wrapped around his hips, and if she could have climbed inside of him and made a nest out of his heart, at that moment she would have done it.

And then, of course, she realized she already had. She whispered, "Rick."

"Kate."

"About that empty nest?"

He kissed her. "The one I haven't dared to tell you I'm dreading?"

"That one." She kissed him back. "Let's go fill it up."

He laughed, just the sound of pure joy, and rocked her. "Yes, yes, yes," he whispered.

He set her down, and they walked up the beach together, hand in hand, then took the little stairs up to the dock (much easier to jump down than to climb up.) They came down the dock more quickly, still feeling that chill. Beckett stepped down into the boat, with Castle steadying her, and as their eyes met, he was swamped with irrational fear, afraid to let her go, over even an inch of that shallow blue-black water full of ghosts. She felt it too, mirrored it, that panic out of nowhere, a coldness and darkness that threatened a second to sweep her away on an inexorable current. He said, "Together, this time." Their hands grasped tightly, and he stepped off the dock and into her arms. She pulled the red carnation out of her hair, and it floated away on the silver water, taking the last of their loss with it.

Stavros put up his fishing gear and handed them a blanket. They huddled into it, and _Iremia_ pulled away from the dock where Richard Rodgers and Aleksander Danilovic shook hands goodbye, almost a hundred years ago, without ever revealing the love they hid in their hearts.

They left the Island of Death behind. Together, this time.


End file.
